


starman waiting in the sky

by orphan_account



Category: The Martian (2015), The Martian - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/M, Hair, Pining, Rule 63
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-22
Updated: 2017-05-22
Packaged: 2018-11-03 14:23:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10969050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Chris was a little obsessed with Marc's hair.





	starman waiting in the sky

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tommygirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tommygirl/gifts).



> All my thanks to tommygirl, who requested The Martian and whose glorious Yuletide letter said they loved a good genderbend. I hope this qualifies.
> 
> Title from [Bowie's Starman](https://genius.com/David-bowie-starman-lyrics).

Chris was a little obsessed with Marc's hair. It was thick and sandy, with the kind of smooth, shampoo commercial waves he never really expected to see in real life. Even in her late thirties, there was barely a scattering of gray.

He felt weird about it at first, partially because it seemed creepy to obsess about one of his crewmates, and then because he'd never spent much time thinking about women's hair, before. But a month or two into training Chris caught Johanssen staring when Marc freed her hair from its ponytail.

"Some people are just genetically blessed," Johanssen said, shaking her head and propping her chin on her closed fist. Chris and Beth watched Marc's animated discussion with Martinez. She absently ran a hand through her bangs before waving the same hand to illustrate whatever point she was making, and Chris and Beth both sighed. "I wonder if she'll chop it off before we leave."

"Oh God, I hope not," Chris said, without really thinking. Johanssen shot him a knowing grin and Chris groaned. "Don't say anything, alright, Johanssen? I'm trying to be a good guy, here."

"Yeah, okay, Beck." Johanssen rolled her eyes. "Not like I blame you. Marc's hot and funny in a nerdy science babe kinda way."

"Oh, look who's talking," Chris said, elbowing Johanssen. She laughed, but she never hinted at his unfortunate crush, again.

Marc didn't chop her hair off before the mission.

Marc discussed it in one of the dozens of pre-mission interviews the crew had to soldier through before launch. Normally she was pissed when the women in the crew got those questions. 'Will it be weird to not wear makeup for years at a time? Do you think the low gravity will help prevent wrinkles?' But the girl interviewing her was a blushing, wide eyed teenager from one of the more forward-thinking teen magazines. Marc had cheerfully answered her handful of fairly technical questions before the girl asked about Marc's hair.

"My hair's actually harder to manage when it's short. It gets kinda curly and unruly and I have to use a lot of pins to keep it out of the way, which isn't great onboard. Too easy to lose them. I figure I'll go for the longest hair in space record. That can't be too hard to beat, right?"

Marc flashed that crooked smile of hers, all dimples and white teeth. The poor girl interviewing her had been too dazzled to come up with a followup question before Marc was making her excuses and wandering off.

Marc broke the 'longest hair in space' record around their sixth month on the Hermes. This was roughly around the same time that Chris resigned himself to the fact that it wasn't a stupid crush and he was hopelessly in love with her.

Marc took to wearing her hair pulled back in a French braid to keep it out of her way in the low g. Chris did his best not to get caught staring at the loose tendrils that would work themselves free to frame her face or curl at the nape of her neck. He only spilled coffee on himself twice while watching her twirl a loose strand around her finger. The real problem was that NASA's shrinks were serious about enforcing mandatory downtime in space, and Marc used up some of hers trying out various styles with her ever lengthening hair.

Chris was a goddamn professional, but every man has his limits, and the day Marc realized she could twist the whole silky mass into a giant bun and it would just stay without any pins was the day Chris almost reached them. Marc tackled him in the doorway to the med bay, cackling, before demonstrating. She twisted the long strands over and over before tucking the ends inside. Marc did enthusiastic jazz hands when she turned around to display the finished bun. Chris once again despaired that this was the person upon whom his heart had decided to lay all of its affections. By the time they reached Mars, Marc wore her hair in one of those intricate crown braids to comfortably wear her helmet.

The months he spent thinking Marc was dead, that the body of Dr. Marcia Watney was going to lay on the surface of that godforsaken planet forever (or at least until NASA deigned to send a crew to retrieve her, and fuck just the thought of it made Chris want to crawl into his bunk and never come out again), were the worst of his entire goddamn life. And then, miraculously, impossibly, she was alive. Then she almost died about a million more times, and then Chris was pulling her inside the Hermes and she was alive, oh god, Marc was alive and he could see her and touch her and she was alive. It was all he could do to manage not to cry or puke or hyperventilate as he helped her out of her suit.

"Sorry about the smell." Marc winced once they pulled her helmet off. "It's been awhile since I, you know, showered." She squinted at Chris, who'd already pulled off his own helmet. "You're not gonna hurl, are you? Because you went to goddamn medical school, Beck. You've smelled fucking cadavers. I didn't think you were this delicate."

"You don't exactly smell like roses, Marc," Chris managed, hoarse and halting around the lump in his throat. Marc was alive and his heart might just give out, but that would be okay, because he got to see her one more time. "But I've never been more happy to see anybody in my life."

Marc's smile turned watery and she more or less collapsed against his side as they made their way further into the Hermes to be greeted by the rest of the crew. After everyone had laughed and cried, Chris wrangled his patient into the medical bay. He sent her into the shower after doping her up enough that her cracked ribs wouldn't bother her if she raised her arms. She had strict instructions to ask for help if necessary, which she waved off with a roll of her eyes and the casual flick of her middle finger.

When Marc emerged from the shower wearing one of Martinez's shirts and a pair of Johanssen's leggings, Chris had to work hard not to gape. She was too skinny, of course, which he knew to expect even if he hadn't seen how sharp her cheekbones looked, how loose her suit fit. It was lucky that she was the smallest of them. Her caloric needs were low, saving her the worst of the malnutrition he'd been so worried about, but she was still too thin. What Chris couldn't help staring at was her hair. Out of its crown braid it fell in thick, damp waves, more shot through with silver than he remembered, and hung all the way to her waist. It took every ounce of his remaining self control to keep from reaching out and wrapping the long, cool strands around his fist, to keep from pulling her to him and burying his face in it, from pulling her on top of him and letting it fall in a curtain separating them from the rest of the world.

"Beck?" Her small hand brushed his wrist, a feather light touch that, combined with the worried frown on her thin, pale face, almost undid him.

"I think you definitely hold the longest hair in space record," Chris said, mouth moving independent of his brain.

Marc stared at him, her blue eyes wide, before bursting into laughter. "Oh, shit. Fuck, that hurts." Chris switched into doctor mode, helping her sit on the exam bed and propping her up as she clutched her side.

"Sorry, sorry. I'm so fucking sorry, Marc."

"For making me laugh?" Marc asked, mouth tilted into that familiar, crooked smile and Chris felt his heart lurch in his chest. "Yeah, you should be, you monster."

"No, for. I told Lewis you were dead. It's my fault. We never -- "

"Christopher Beck," Marc snapped, one hand grabbing him by the shirt collar and yanking him forward until their faces were inches apart. "Don't you dare apologize to me for that. It was not your fault. You did exactly what you were supposed to do. NASA sent me all the reports and I knew before that. You were right to make the call you made."

"Marc." Chris voice cracked and he could feel his face go hot, his eyes sting with unshed tears. "I left you."

"Oh for. Fuck, get your ass up here." Marc scooted sideways and yanked on Chris' collar until he climbed onto the bed next to her. He wrapped a careful arm around her shoulders as she leaned into him. "You didn't leave me, Chris."

It was Marc calling him Chris that pulled him out of his head faster than anything else could. Last names and titles were standard for everyone, but even before launch, even in their most casual moments, Marc had never once called him Chris.

"You didn't leave me." Marc tipped Chris' chin up so their eyes met and he couldn't move for a moment. God, she was alive. Marc was alive and Chris got to breathe the same air as her and nobody had ever been this lucky. "You were making sure you kept your living patients safe. That was exactly what you were supposed to do."

"I left you," Chris repeated, resting his forehead against Marc's.

"You didn't." Her small, strong, calloused hand released his chin and slid up to cup his cheek. Her thumb caressed his cheekbone and Chris felt sparks all down his spine. "Chris, you didn't. And even if you had, you came back for me. I waited and you came back."

Chris swallowed the sob that wanted to slip free from his throat and nodded. And for the first time he let his hand reach up to tuck a damp strand of Marc's hair behind her ear. She smiled, that perfect, crooked smile and Chris only just refrained from kissing her, from pressing his lips to the crow's feet around her eyes, the tip of her upturned nose, her dimples.

"Now. I'm really fucking exhausted," Marc said. "So I am going to close my eyes, and you are going to be here whenever I wake up screaming and thinking I'm still on Mars."

"Of course I'll be here."

"I meant you're not allowed to let go of me." Marc narrowed her eyes at him. "You're stuck here until I wake up, okay?"

"There is literally no place in the universe I would rather be," Chris said, not quite masking the sincerity of that statement behind his smile.

"Huh. That's." Marc's eyelids drooped and she bit back a yawn. "That's something we'll talk about when I'm not so tired."

"Okay," Chris agreed.

"Okay." Marc blinked up at him for a moment before she kissed him. It was almost chaste. Just a firm press of lips -- hers slightly chapped, his damp and parted when he inhaled in surprise -- and the barest hint of tongue. "Yeah. Yep." Marc's voice was hoarse and sleepy as she tucked her head into the crook of his neck. "That's nice. Definitely talking about that when I wake up."

Chris leaned back into the pillows, stroking one hand through Marc's hair as he listened to her slow, even breaths. He closed his eyes and let the sounds and smells and feel of her wash over him. Chris had waited years for Marc. Marc had waited on Mars for Chris. He could wait for her to wake up.


End file.
